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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24903688">mccoy and summers</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfwheeze/pseuds/halfwheeze'>halfwheeze</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Awkward Flirting, Flirting, Flirting your way out of anxiety attack by Alex Summers, M/M, Separation Anxiety</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 02:55:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,414</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24903688</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfwheeze/pseuds/halfwheeze</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>alex has an anxiety attack and calls darwin to meet him at the park and oh my god this guy isn't darwin, this is so awkward. </p><p>he's kinda hot though. </p><p>yeah, he's kinda hot though.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hank McCoy/Alex Summers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>99</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>mccoy and summers</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Welcome to publishing my 2017-2018 drafts. Enjoy.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Alex honestly cannot breathe; he usually says that in a way that conveys laughter or exasperation, some kind of joke emotion, but this panic is nothing like a joke. He had a dream of falling, it’s always of falling, hearing Scotty screaming and his Mom - he doesn’t like to think about what he hears his mom doing. He knows, logically, that Scotty is okay in his home is Westchester, but Alex has been in New York City for the past few months kicking it by himself for a while. He’s not supposed to come back to Charles’s mansion for another month, moving back in before Scotty’s next birthday, and he doesn’t want to call his little brother just to hear the sound of his voice. So, he called Darwin, who is also in New York City, instead. Darwin agreed to meet him in one of the smaller parks in the Bronx, so for now, Alex waits, leaning against a tree ten feet from his motorcycle, keeping it in view just in case. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He waits rubbing his hands against the cold, not shoving his hands in his pocket simply because he doesn’t think he can stand to be so achingly still. When a car pulls up, Alex wonders at how Darwin knew exactly where to come without texting him, but he doesn’t care. A tall man steps out of the car and Alex is attached to him in a heartbeat, burrowing into the loose button up he finds on the chest in front of him. Hands come around his shoulders in a way that seems nervous, but Alex isn’t surprised; he rarely shows so much emotion. It takes about half a minute of contact before he can make himself start talking, explaining, and the hands are still warm on his shoulders. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry I called you at ass o’clock in the morning, but my stupid shit brain is telling me Scotty is dead and I needed someone,” Alex murmurs, hands closing tighter around sharp hip bones. His hands are drifting and it would be weird with anyone but Darwin, but Armando gets him on a molecular level or whatever the fuck. He startles when his fingertips drift over a belt to be found there: Darwin has never worn a belt in his life, unless he was going to church, and especially not at half past two in the fucking morning. Alex stiffens, pulling away from a person who obviously is not his friend, finally looking up at their face. He hadn’t been able to see it before, given the headlights drowning it out, but the lights are out now. The mystery hugger looks sheepish and honestly confused, glasses slide down a little on a sharp nose. He actually might be even taller than Darwin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck, this is fucking awkward,” Alex announces, scrubbing a hand across his face instead of continuing to look at the stranger. To his surprise, the guy who wears a belt at two thirty in the morning just shrugs, taking a moment before replying. Alex takes time to notice more of his features, like the fact that his shirt is perfectly buttoned, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and his forearms are killer nice. Alex reminds himself that this is a complete stranger, and thinking about his forearms isn’t helping anyone, least of all Alex. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m Hank,” Hank says, “and it’s alright. You seem to be going through something, and while I’m sorry that I’m not whomever you were looking for, I hope I was of some help.” Okay, so the guy - Hank - is just a big nerd, kind of a bozo, but he’s cute when he’s pushing up his glasses. His nervous little smile must be catnip for bad boys with a thing about nerds, but Alex has never called himself a bad boy in his life. Others certainly did, while he was in high school, but Alex is almost twenty five and he’s hardly a boy anymore. Hank also seems genuinely nice, a thing Alex is actually weak for, given any chance to be weak for anyone at all (anyone nice to him is a bad thing). He forces himself into nonchalance, shrugging back at the taller man with a false confidence to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s - it’s not that big a deal,” he lies obviously, the confidence flooding back out where it belongs, and Hank, who hasn’t even known him for five minutes, calls him on his shit with a singular eyebrow. He has the same sharpness to him, the same ability to make Alex feel beneath a microscope, that Angel does, if softened by being a big nerd rather than a femme fatale in stilettos. “Okay, so it’s kind of a big deal, but it’s like - I’m a stranger, and it’s not a big deal for </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Alex explains, and Hank’s shoulders inexplicably fall just a bit. Alex has questions that he’s not certain he wants answers to, especially if he has to give answers in exchange. He’s not so great at opening up, most the time. He’s working on the anger issues, but therapy is a fucking monster, he’s decided. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It could be,” Hank replies simply, tone unrealistically even as he just stares down at Alex, who turns away. It seems as if Hank actually cares, but Alex has been burned enough times that he’s cautious, biting his lip as he considers it. Darwin will make him actually talk through it, while Alex can say his piece with Hank and walk away, never speak to him again. He doesn’t know if he’d like to never speak to Hank again, but little thoughts like that are easy to throw away. He takes out his phone before replying to Hank, sending a simple </span>
  <em>
    <span>false alarm, was manageable on my own</span>
  </em>
  <span> in Darwin’s direction before looking up again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You sure about that?” Alex asks, because he craves certainty, and he’s needy as fuck and willing to face that. Hank looks surprised at any insinuation of acceptance, but nods quickly anyway, so it’s a pleasant sort of surprise, Alex hopes. Alex breathes in slowly and scrambles for a place to start, not knowing how to begin on a blank tablet of someone who doesn’t know his issues. He only really talks to Darwin, the Professor or Erik about his shit, and all three of them know his past unfortunately intimately. “I don’t know where to start,” he says honestly after a moment, shrugging again. Hank nods and takes a moment to say anything, biting down on his lip hard. Alex does not find that attractive or cute in any given way, shape, or form. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How about… who is Scotty?” Hank asks helpfully, and Alex nods automatically. He had forgotten what he had said to Hank when he still thought the other was Armando, and Scotty is a good place to start with, a solid foundation to most of the things that are fucked up about Alex Summers. That’s not really fair to Scott, but Scotty always seems to be a good place to start with, and Alex pushes that thought away before it starts to make friends with all the other bad shit in his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s my little brother. Turns eighteen next month. He lives a little while away with our caretaker, but I moved to the city to deal with some shit I’ve got. I tend not to play well with others, and the idea of sticking me out in the city was actually dealing with that, making some friends who my caretaker didn’t supply in foster siblings. Me and Scott had some shit happen when I was ten and he was four, and I thought he was dead for most of my adolescence. Sometimes I wake up and he still is,” Alex explains in a really cliffnotes way, and instead of looking at him like he’s either a kicked puppy or a freak of nature (the two responses he’s accustomed to getting), Hank is looking at him with a sort of understanding. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you had an anxiety attack when you woke up. That looked like the aftermath of an anxiety attack, in my experience,” Hank replies. Alex’s shoulders relax a little bit of their tension, because he’s genuinely surprised that someone else, someone who doesn’t know the depth of Alex’s shit, got it in one. Someone who doesn’t know the destruction he could cause, that he has caused, only knows maybe a quarter of the things that fuck Alex up. His own therapist, another mutant that Charles is friends with, took a little while to wrap his mind around everything in Alex’s past. Alex nods after a space of too much silence, and Hank immediately nods back. “You’re tired, aren’t you? An average anxiety attack expends the same amount of energy as half of the average marathon.” Alex gapes a little, he knows, and Hank looks down sheepishly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re full of fun facts at nearly three in the morning. Who are you, Hank? A person usually has to be a level four friend to unlock my tragic backstory, and I don’t even know your last name,” Alex half-flirts, not really thinking it through. He hasn’t been thinking things through since he woke up, and so far it’s worked out for him pretty well. He hugged a hot stranger and subsequently told the hot stranger his and Scott’s childhood bullshit, but he’d definitely done worse after an anxiety attack before, so he counts it as a win. Anyway, he’s a flirt by nature, and if this doesn’t pan out, he can justify it to himself in that way, as if it will work. Hank hesitates on a smile, breaking into one before talking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m Hank McCoy. I’m a genetic scientist specializing in mutant and mutate DNA structures. I have a fairly non-tragic suburban backstory, given that being bullied as a child isn’t particularly tragic. I graduated from Harvard, and a few other places, but everyone is always most impressed by Harvard,” he lays it out like the index of a book, picking out highlights and calling them titles. He looks nervous, and Alex is all at once angry at whoever bullied Hank in elementary school or whenever, despite barely knowing Hank even now, let alone then. He doesn’t like to think about nice people being treated in a bad way. He’s only actually angry that a man obviously brilliant is so collapsed in on himself, when Alex knows that brilliant men can also be confident. He’s going home to Charles Xavier in a month, after all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mutant DNA? Any reason for the focus?” Alex asks despite himself, too curious to hold the inquiry in. He can’t help but hope that Hank is a mutant, if only so he can take him home to meet Charles, who would love him. He can already picture Charles spoon feeding Hank information and tools to better whatever he’s working on, and he really hopes Hank is a mutant. Charles is about the only person Alex knows who would love to grab another child for himself off of the streets of New York. Hank looks too scared to tell him, whatever the reason is, so Alex is pretty sure he’s right on the money. “It’s three in the morning, I gave you my tragic backstory, and I won’t tell a soul,” he says, hoping to be reassuring without pressing too hard on what seems to be a delicate resolve. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The first mutant DNA I studied was my own, when I was about twelve years old,” Hank replies simply, and Alex beams up at him. Hank looks confused all over again, and seems to find a need to explain further, adorable in his befuddlement. “I’m a mutant. Why are you so… pleased?” he asks awkwardly, looking down at Alex with what might be a blush spreading across his cheeks, down to his neck and up to his ears. Alex only has to debate a moment before letting the entire cat out of the bag, rather than just the whiskers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m a mutant too. My brother as well. Both of our caregivers, all of our foster siblings. Have you ever actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>met in person </span>
  </em>
  <span>another mutant before, Hank?” Alex asks, and he’s not surprised when Hank shakes his head. The scientist looks all kinds of awed, and it’s certainly not a bad look on him. Again, Alex only considers for a moment before offering more things to Hank, who is obviously too cute for three in the morning Alex. “Want to come home and meet my family next month?” he asks, and Hank looks shocked all over again. Alex watches with no small amount of attention as Hank’s throat works to swallow before he struggles for words. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think meeting the parents needs at least three dates first, no?” Hank asks in the worst approximation of smoothness that Alex has ever seen, but he doesn’t mind. Cute people don’t have to be smooth, Alex decides, and then grins up at Hank. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess you have a month to take me on three dates,” Alex answers, and Hank gapes all over again. Like before, it’s a pretty enough look that Alex wants to make him do it again, wants to keep surprising him. “Might wanna get started on that. Are you free Friday?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For you? I mean - yes,” Hank says, again not smooth in the slightest; he had started with what could have been an excellent line, but he’s apparently not so good on the delivery. Alex firmly doesn’t think of it as cute, and pulls one of the sharpies he always keeps in the inside pocket of his jacket out, grabbing Hank’s hand. Hank only startles a little before Alex starts to write on the back of his hand, scrawling out seven numbers before pressing a kiss to Hank’s cheek. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Text me,” he calls behind him as he walks toward his bike, swinging his leg over it before turning back to Hank. Hank flounders for a moment before deciding on what to say, and Alex is pleased to watch him do it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t even know your last name!” Hank calls out, both indignant and laughing. Alex could definitely stand to be on the receiving end of a laugh like that for a while, but he doesn’t tack on a time limit to the two of them. It’s much too soon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Summers,” Alex says, and pulls away from the park. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hank texts him before he gets home. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Kudos and Comment!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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